


Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures

by bombshells



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Armed Robbery, Babies, Gratuitous Swearing, Pregnancy, Shenangians, delivery, embarrassingly cheesy, horrible people being big softies, kind of feelsy in the end, let's just pretend lotor and the generals were good friends, lotor is a loser, odd situations, references to pop culture, the power of friendship (TM), they're all dumbasses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-03 02:10:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17275115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bombshells/pseuds/bombshells
Summary: While stranded on a desert planet, five horrible people are forced to work together to do the one scariest thing they have ever done: emergency-deliver a random baby.





	Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures

For a band of five tired soldiers armed with various lethal weapons and one very old cat of dubious origin, McZarkonald’s was both a safe haven and a hideout.

They had been coming here after missions since before Ezor had been recruited, when the team had been simply Lotor, Zethrid, and Narti. McZarkonald’s was a filthy restaurant chain –propaganda Happy Meal toys (Get your own Emperor Zarkon action figure!), demonic grease, questionable hygiene. And yet they kept coming back for more. It was deplorable.

Now they sat in a circle around a vaguely sticky table and ate in exhausted quiet, their ragged civilian clothes smelling of motor oil and dust. Lotor, hair somehow in an annoyingly neat ponytail, dragged a chicken nugget through a small mountain of ketchup. Acxa sullenly chewed her mouthful of wilted salad, silently berating them for eating at a place as lowly as this. Zethrid scraped cheese off of the bottom of her plastic plate, occasionally sipping out of a large soft drink. Narti was trying to coax Kova into eating hamburger meat, which was of admittedly questionable content.

Meanwhile, Ezor cradled a paper bag in her arms, scavenging for stray fries. It was an unspoken rule that once it was at the bottom of the bag, it was Ezor’s, and she was claiming her rightful bounty as if it could make her forget what a distasteful failure their last mission had been.

Lotor inhaled, wiping a small smear of ketchup away from the corner of his mouth. “Does anyone want a motivational speech?”

Nobody said anything, and Acxa gave him a _come off it_ look. He sighed and returned to his nuggets. “We best get home as quickly as possible, then.”

The dread in his voice at the prospect of the report he was going to write infected the rest of them like a slow-acting poison. Ezor had been looking forward to showering and wearing clean clothes again, but then again, another failure from the exiled half-breed squad would stick to them more than any amount of accumulated dirt would.

 _I want to stay a little longer,_ Narti signed, after giving up on Kova.

“There’s hardly anything attractive about this hellhole, Narti,” Acxa says, scowling into her depressing little salad. The Academy of the Royal Fleet had drilled a notorious dislike for anything unhealthy into her system, and of all of them, she was the only one of them who refused to eat the synthetic fried garbage they fooled themselves into thinking was comfort food. That, and the fact that she was painfully short for a Galra, made her  determined in her belief that the healthiest food available would help her shoot to the stature of the likes of Zethrid.

“I like it here,” Ezor said, a bit childlishly. “They have good cheese fries.”

“The AC doesn’t work. We’re on a desert planet. It’s 103 degrees.”

True, it was sweltering. Ezor was faring better than most; her own native planet of Saoxia wasn’t much cooler, her clothing was light, and her species was well-adapted to the heat. Poor Zethrid, however, with her thick fur, looked like she was having a personal battle with the idea of heatstroke, and Acxa’s bad mood would only get worse the more time they spent in these conditions. Narti didn’t sweat, or complain, for that matter, but Ezor could see by her slight, shifty movements that she was deeply uncomfortable; and Lotor, while maintaining his perfect appearance, had a telltale twitch in his eye.

 _I know it’s hot,_ Narti said, ears twitching in irritation. She was grumpy since she didn’t have her hood on –civilian clothes, heat, trying to blend in and all that. _I just don’t want to get in that godforsaken pod again._

Ah. The pod. For the sake of discretion they’d rented this old, decrepit pod older than Acxa and used it to get to their destination. Ezor didn’t really _mind_ it much, except for the fact that it was tiny and the five of them were hopelessly crammed into it. Ezor knew it grated on Narti to have so much physical contact, when she was so sensitive to it.

Lotor shrugged apologetically, before getting out of his seat. “How about you take the passenger seat, then? We really do need to get going. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can put this whole ordeal behind us.”

The rest of them didn’t object to Lotor’s proposition, mainly because they didn’t have the energy to – though Ezor would have loved the sweet embrace of a broken AC breathing hot air in her face- and Narti signed her assent.

Muttering under their breath, they threw out their trash and vacated the greasy, sweat-flavored restaurant, into the nearly abandoned parking lot outside. The sun beat down mercilessly on the black asphalt, and over the tarnished, dented hood of their pod – _The Midget Wonder,_ Zethrid had jokingly called it, back when they’d thought their mission was going to be a success. Now it was just the physical manifestation of their abject hatred and misery.

Ezor sighed as they approached.

 _You signed up for this,_ she heard her _tante_ say. _You dug this hole, now lie in it_ _._

One would’ve thought that the emperor’s own son would’ve been able to afford a nicer vehicle –at least something that could comfortably fit five roughly Galra-sized people- but then again, Lotor was effectively in exile and on Papa’s Bad Side, so he had to scrounge around and earn his living like the rest of them plebeians.

Narti took her preassigned passenger seat, Lotor the pilot’s; behind them, Zethrid, Ezor, and Acxa, like the professional adult Galra soldiers they were, had a silent battle over who got a seat next to the windows. It was resolved as Acxa swiftly lunged for the first window seat- tiny little weasel- then Ezor and Zethrid silently tried to wrestle each other into the middle seat; predictably, Ezor lost, and was thus squished between Acxa and Zethrid without the relief of lukewarm glass to rest her forehead upon.

Lotor turned the key into the ignition; it revved once and stalled. He tried again, and it roared to life, shaking them and emitting fumes Ezor knew were bound to be unhealthy to inhale in the long run. “Are you sure this is safe, Lotor?”

“Safe as life,” he said cryptically.

“For fuck’s sake,” Zethrid said under her breath. “Does it work or not?”

“Sure it does,” Lotor said distractedly, as a plume of white smoke erupted in front of the windshield. “Just trust me.”

Acxa rolled her eyes so hard Ezor could almost hear it.

After much coaxing, the pod got off the ground and into the air, and soon they were on their way towards their destination. Despite Lotor’s affirmations that their pod was perfectly fine and serviceable, it kept dipping and veering off-course, even after they were out into open space, which did nothing for their nerves, frail as they were.

 _If this thing stops in the middle of open space…_ Ezor thought, with dread. They’d be fucked.

One bright side was that there was, at least, no sun anymore, which meant that the pod was significantly cooler than before, though still stiflingly hot. Ezor piped up with her customary question.

“How long is this going to take again?”

“Seven vargas, give or take,” Lotor said from the cockpit.

She stifled a scream. Zethrid had put her head against the window and immediately began to snooze, and Acxa- Ezor could not believe it. She looked at the tiny book in her friend’s hands and blinked a few times, trying to register what she was seeing.

“Acxa,” she said slowly. “Is that advanced calculus?”

Acxa nodded slowly, her pencil resting on her chin. “Differential. My favorite.”

“Why are you solving a workbook of advanced calculus? Is – is it for a project?”

“Keeps me busy. Relaxes me.”

Ezor began to laugh incredulously. “Your idea of fun and leisure is _calculus?”_

“And what about it?”

“Nerd,” Zethrid mumbled, half awake.

“No bullying,” Lotor said from the front.

Ezor, meanwhile, sat there. She’d been hoping to catch some sleep, but no way was that happening with the position she was in right now. Instead, she focused on the static-y radio blaring from the Midget’s sad little outdated speakers. It was tuned to the UGBC- Universal Galra Broadcast Channel- and after a solid thirty doboshes of tolerating lo-fi remixes of Daibazaal’s national anthem, Ezor couldn’t take it anymore and insisted on changing the channel. The next wasn’t much better, a local station in a language Ezor didn’t understand broadcasting some sort of radio drama. It sounded dramatic, if the frequent passionate arguments, jazz music, and then abrupt gunshots followed by anguished screaming were anything to go by.

The real trouble came after they went into hyperspeed. Then came the shoving. Zethrid started it, scooting in Ezor’s space to give herself more room to sleep. This pushed Ezor into Acxa’s space, which the latter did not appreciate _in the slightest,_ promptly shoving Ezor in the other direction. Ezor, at her wit’s end, shoved back; Acxa shoved harder, pushing her into Zethrid; Zethrid pushed back, and suddenly they were all engrossed in a silent turf war that consisted of trodden feet and shredded dignity.

“Enough!” Lotor said authoritatively from the front. “Stars above, you’re acting like children!”

“Everyone’s a child to you, old man!”

Lotor’s face, in the side mirror, looked very, very offended. “I thought we agreed my age was off-limits!”

“Old man old man old man old man old man-”

“I am in the _prime_ of my _youth-”_

A loud, animalistic hiss sounded throughout the pod and silence fell.

“Thank you, Narti,” Lotor said, very dignified.  Even though nobody had asked for one of his motivational speeches, he started giving one anyway. “Now. I know our last mission was a setback, and I know nobody wants to be here now, but this is our situation, and we must make the best of it. This mission has brought out the worst in us. Should we let it defeat us? No, I say! We shall fight on! We shall leave the blood-purists shaking in their boots. What do you say, Ezor? That funny expression?”

“That’s the tea?”

“That’s the _tea,_ ” he enunciated decisively.  Ezor could not put into words the wrongness of seeing Lotor, her ten thousand year old immortal boss, say _that’s the tea_ in his archaic accent. “We shall prevail. Brave Galran women, my sisters-in-arms, I ask you: will we cower in the face of adversity?”

“No,” Acxa said in a deadpan, engrossed in differentiation.

“That’s the spirit, Acxa,” he said approvingly. “You’ll see, my friends. You’ll see our oncoming victory.”

At that moment, the Midget’s engine made a very, very funny sound; at least, it would have been funny, if Ezor had not been _in_ the Midget at the time. Lotor visibly cringed.

“Ah,” he said, “it seems the Midget’s had enough of us.”

They all snapped to attention. “Specify.” That was Acxa.

“I’d give her…an hour? Two? Before she explodes. Purple smoke means explosion.”

He promptly, gently eased the Midget out of hyperspace as they all voiced their alarm. Ezor knew she should be more scared, but honestly, their team had seen wilder things.

“What now?” Zethrid probed.

“I suppose we should find somewhere to land,” Lotor said, fingers tapping at the dashboard. “The nearest maintenance station…hmm…”

A nerve-wracking couple of minutes later, a blip appeared on the screen- they’d finally found a maintenance station, on the next planetary outpost, a few minutes away.

The Midget dipped, entering the moon’s atmosphere- “Breathable,” Lotor reported, “so somebody open the windows, please-”- and slowly, tentatively approached the moon’s scorched desert surface. This planet, like their last stop, was a desert one, the ground stretching out endlessly, an infinite canopy of yellow broken by a single black line- a road. The only sign of civilization was the ramshackle warehouse on the side of the road with a weather-beaten sign proclaiming _Ralax Mechanics._

The Midget jostling them with every second, Lotor eased the tired pod into a small space behind the building, the pod hitting the ground with a heavy, teeth-rattling thud. They wasted no time in getting out, practically scrambling over each other to squeeze out.

For a minute they stood there and watched as the Midget wheezed and smoked in the harsh afternoon light. The smoke wafting out of the hood in plumes was a deep, voluminous purple. Ezor doubted the Midget would live to fly another day, but she wasn’t going to tell that to Lotor, who appeared to have gotten attached to the pile of junk.

They climbed the auto-shop’s little porch and filed inside, into the warm, stifling shade. The man inside was very busy filing his nails and listening to the state-sponsored soap opera on the UGBC. He gave them all a cursory look as they entered, then immediately returned to what he was doing. Ezor was shocked at his nerve, before she reminded herself that none of them were in uniform.

“Are you Ralax?” Lotor chimed in crisply.

Ralax grunted in affirmation, not sparing him a glance.

“We have a pod parked outside that we’d like you to take a look at,” Lotor continued politely.

Ralax looked at them very nastily, then got out of his seat and went outside with them to the Midget. Ezor resisted the urge to kick him towards it. She knew for a fact that Acxa, Lotor, and Zethrid all knew a lot about ships, and could’ve probably fixed the Midget, except that they were used to more…sophisticated machinery, military property, not an old peasant’s pod like this one.

If it was one thing Ezor would say for Ralax, however, it was that he didn’t half-ass a job. He climbed all over and under the Midget, taking his sweet time in determining everything that was wrong with it, making occasional grunts and “hmphs” to himself. After what must’ve been at least forty-five doboshes, he finally straightened, wiping orange sweat off of his forehead and blinking at them with nonchalance.

“She’s pretty beat up,” he said roughly. “Fixing would take us well into tomorrow.” He began to list a series of mechanical jargon Ezor had no interest in. “And finally, she’s too old to go into hyperspeed. My advice is that you sell her for scrap metal and get yourself something that won’t blow up as soon as you pull a throttle.”

“Tomorrow, you say?” Lotor said thoughtfully. He exchanged a look with the rest of them. “What do you think?”

Ezor silently begged him with her eyes not to let her stay in this hellhole any longer than they had to. Narti, coming to her aid, subtly shook her head.

He turned back to Ralax. “Would you be interested in a nice, vintage Nebula 5670 Prime, then, my friend?”

Ralax looked like he wanted to say that Lotor was anything but his friend. “Depends.”

And so the long negotiations began. As Zethrid and Lotor retreated inside the shack and began haggling with the old mechanic, with Narti as their backup (she could be very convincing), Ezor and Acxa settled on the porch steps to look for somewhere to get a new ride, or at least sit in the shade and figure out their next plan.

Unfortunately, the little planetoid they’d landed on was nearly deserted; at least where they were. Squinting at Acxa’s netscreen, they scrolled and scrolled and scrolled until at last they found a pit stop with a convenience store and “guaranteed air conditioning”. It would be another forty-five doboshes’ walk away, in this hot sun…

Acxa groaned into her hands. “Next time, I’m picking the pod.”

Ezor flapped the cotton fabric of her shirt, trying to fan herself. Meanwhile, alien flies buzzed nearby. Ezor could only hope they didn’t bite.

Eventually, Lotor, Zethrid, and Narti emerged a couple thousand GAC richer and in very bad moods, which worsened when Acxa delivered her wonderful news. Together, the five of them –six, if you counted Kova- began the march to the pit stop. It was pure, unadulterated torture- forty-five doboshes of silent, agonized marching in scorching weather, in an unending landscape of yellow desert and sky. The wind, when it came, brought with it an onslaught of small sand particles that burrowed into their skin like small darts.

At last, after Zethrid looked like she was about to collapse into a heap, the pit stop’s tall, tarnished sign came into view, and then the small station building’s outline itself. Outside of the building, a small hovercraft was parked, much newer and much bigger than the Midget. There was a small sign by the side of the road, which Ezor assumed was for a hover-bus stop, since its writing was in a language she didn’t know. She could see the dimmed lights through the dusted windows of the convenience store and looked to her companions desperately. Without another word, they sped-walked in and plunged into the aisles of junk snacks and tall refrigerators. Almost of a single mind, they delegated tasks to each other, and soon they all piled their bounty at the single cash register at the back.

The cashier was quite young, but otherwise, it could have quite possibly been Ralax again. He rang up all of their stuff with extreme disinterest, took his cash, and then kept sitting there, eyes staring vacantly at nothing, cigarette smoke wafting from between his lips. It was, with all honesty, one of the most depressing things Ezor had ever seen.

They carried their bags outside, to the small shaded pavilion right next to the convenience store, and sat down on the steps, sipping fruit juice of unknown origin- Ezor wondered, offhandedly, what they would do if somebody had an allergic reaction- when they noticed someone else sitting nearby. Two people, actually, and a lot of luggage –a heavily pregnant woman of unknown planetary origin, and a little kid that looked to be hers. The woman looked deeply, painfully fatigued, leaning against one of the pillars holding the roof up, eyes narrowed in exhaustion. The little kid sat next to her, knees drawn up to his chin, arms around his legs, staring at them curiously. There were bags under his eyes.

Ezor paid them no mind, focusing on her juice –a sweet, cold tang, but with an earthy aftertaste she rather disliked. Acxa broke out the calculus book again. They settled into a long, mirthless silence.

Every once in a while, the pregnant lady would make a little sound of discomfort, reaching for her back. Ezor tuned it out, wishing she hadn’t left her earbuds at Command.

 “If she doesn’t go easy she’s gonna go into labor,” commented Zethrid in Lower Galran with her eyes closed. She’d laid out on the ground in an attempt to sleep.

Narti tipped her head towards her, tail slashing from one side to the next. _She’s already taking it easy as it is._

“Whatever,” Zethrid said dismissively, rolling over.

The lady was in obvious, continuous discomfort. Every once in a while she’d twitch and make a quiet sound of pain, and her kid would look at her concernedly and ask her things in a language Ezor didn’t catch. The lady would dismiss her son regardless, with a wave of her hand, other hand settling on her swollen belly determinedly, like she could hold her baby in with sheer force of will alone.

“I think she really is going into labor,” Acxa said, peeking up from the calculus book.

“Psh. No way. Nobody’s unlucky enough to give birth in this shithole.”

They continued minding their own business. Lotor chimed in that he’d made arrangements and their ride would arrive by midnight. They accepted the news with dignity, i.e., nobody ran out into the open and started dancing and screaming hysterically.

Suddenly the lady’s gasps and shudders of pain became rapid and intense, she reached for her back again and started breathing very rapidly, her bluish-green skin suddenly very pale. Narti poked Zethrid, who opened one eye.

“Definitely labor.”

There was an uncomfortable gap in conversation punctuated by the sounds of a very uncomfortable woman.

“Should we…help?” Ezor said hesitantly.

They all cast the poor woman guilty looks. Nobody really _wanted_ to say it was none of their business, but their conditioning had been strong.

Narti was the first to act. _I want to help them._ She was a notorious baby-lover, for some unknown reason.

There was another silence, and the lady started speaking rapid-fire gibberish to her son, who looked very, very lost and scared. Their shriveled little murderer hearts stung at the sight.

Acxa closed her calculus book, and Zethrid sat up, scowling at the ground.

Lotor shrugged. “I mean, our ride’s not arriving until late. We might as well. I guess. Zethrid? You’re the only one here who knows about…fetuses.”

Zethrid gave him a very unimpressed look. “Fetuses? Really? You’re ten thousand years old, Lotor.”

“I thought we said my age was off-”

“The _lady,”_ said Acxa sharply.

“Right, let’s go,” Lotor ordered.

They approached the woman and her son all together; the kid cowered and shrank back, while the mother, whose eyes had been screwed shut in pain, opened one eye to look at them resignedly, like she expected them to make her day even worse.

“Hi,” Ezor said, in Universal, as friendly as possible. She was well aware that they all looked intimidating-not to mention, most of them looked overwhelmingly Galra. She’d read somewhere that pregnant people got all jumpy about everything and they really didn’t need this expectant mother to go into cardiac arrest on their watch.  “We noticed you’re in a lot of pain. Do you need any help?”

The lady took a few fortifying breaths, then spoke in a language Ezor didn’t know, screwing her eyes shut like this was all a very bad dream.

Ezor turned to her companions. “I don’t think she speaks Universal.”

Lotor cleared his throat. “I think that is Jassolese. It’s been a while since I’ve practiced, but I believe I can translate.” He stepped forward and crouched to her level, speaking in broken gibberish.

The lady and her son looked relieved. She spoke back to him in her language, pausing occasionally, seemingly telling him of her circumstances. He turned back to them.

“She and her son are waiting for a ride to take her to Olkarion,” he said. “It’s supposed to arrive by midnight. She comes from planet Ansala- she and her son had to…leave after the Empire seized control of the system. It wasn’t safe for children.” He paused, and hesitated. “The father is dead.”

A refugee, pregnant, widowed mother and her kid. They all looked at each other rather guiltily. It was…indirectly their fault this woman was in this position at all.

Lotor turned to her and spoke again, apparently telling her of their intentions to help her through her imminent delivery. She looked to them a bit warily, before blowing out a breath and nodding, and asking a question. Lotor nodded, and pointed to Zethrid.

“Oh, fuck,” Zethrid said with sudden realization. “I’m delivering the kid, aren’t I?”

Lotor switched to Universal. “You’re the only one who knows anything about it.”

“You mean I was conveniently there when my younger brothers were born,” Zethrid said. “When I was _fourteen_. _That_ is knowing anything.” She looked frustrated. “Lotor, you did all that travelling and you want to tell me you know _nothing_ about babies?”

“I mean, it’s not really my line of work and I don’t want to muddle anything-”

“For fuck’s sake. Acxa? Academy prodigy? Don’t they have an EMT class at your prissy school?”

“Elective. In its place I took-”

“-oh, let me guess, fucking differential calculus. Narti?”

 _I’ve never even held a baby before,_ Narti signed with glee. She was very, very excited at the prospect of something small, squishy, and easily held in one’s hands.

Zethrid looked suddenly old. “Ezor? Come on, Ezor, don’t bullshit me and tell me you don’t know _anything.”_

“I’ve heard girls talking about stuff, I guess,” she said, shifting from foot to foot. “Blurry memories. I know some things. They like ice chips.”

“Oh, thank the cosmos,” Zethrid said sarcastically. “ _Ice chips.”_

 The woman made an extended sound of discomfort. The little boy looked like he was on the verge of tears.

“Okay, okay,” Zethrid said, gathering herself. “Narti, take the brat and get…medicine. Food. Blankets. Anything. Just get him out of here.”

Narti, predictably, was delighted. She extended a clawed hand to the boy, who hesitated, paling. Lotor spoke to him diplomatically in Jassolese, and finally the kid was coaxed into taking Narti’s hand and being led away. The mother looked after them anxiously, barely listening as Lotor spoke placating nonsense.

“Lotor, stay here, translate, and help me get her comfortable,” she said. “Ezor, Acxa, I want a tub, I want hot water, I want towels, I want blankets, and I want all that sterile antibacterial shit, whatever you find.”

Ezor didn’t know how they were going to find all of that in the convenience store, but there was no arguing with Zethrid now. She and Acxa got up to fulfill her demands. They barged into the store, women on a mission, and browsed the racks.

Ezor found hand sanitizer and antibacterial wipes, the entire shelf of which she dumped into a basket. Meanwhile, Acxa collected a massive amount of water bottles, paper towels, and the closest thing to blankets she could find, which were these really ugly plastic patterned tablecloths. They dumped it all on the counter; Ezor added a pack of jerky for good measure (so the lady could have something to chew on).

“That’ll be….seventy five thousand GAC,” said the cashier, ringing it up at the register.

Acxa and Ezor gave each other dubious looks. They didn’t know if they had that much money on them. Sure enough, once Acxa checked, she realized they were very, very short. She made a quick gesture for Ezor to listen to her.

“What are we gonna do?” she whispered.

Ezor bit her lip. “We could leave an IOU?”

“That won’t work.”

“Let’s just tell him what’s going on.”

Acxa turned to the cashier. “So there’s this lady outside; she’s giving birth, and she needs all this stuff, except we don’t have the money for all of it. But we really, really need it.” She plastered on her most pleading smile, which, unfortunately, wasn’t that convincing.

The cashier looked very unimpressed. “It’s none of my business.”

“She’s about to push a child out of her body.”

“Don’t care. You either pay for the shit or you don’t. Not my fault she couldn’t haul her ass somewhere else.”

Acxa’s face darkened. In one swift movement, she pulled out her gun and pointed it at the cashier’s head.

Ezor raised her hands. “Whoa, calm down, Acxa-”

“Listen, fucker,” Acxa growled. The cashier’s eyes had gotten very wide, and the cigarette’s ashes had begun to fall into his lap, but he didn’t seem to care. He began to visibly shake. “If you don’t let us have the stuff we need for that woman right now-”

Five minutes later, they walked back to Zethrid, Lotor, and the woman with everything in plastic bags. Acxa looked very pleased with herself.

The woman was not having a very good time. Zethrid and Lotor had dug out clothes from her bags to use as bedding, and they got to work making her as comfortable as they could with the tablecloths, but ultimately they all knew it wasn’t going to be an easy trip. Acxa started building a fire so they could heat the water. Meanwhile, Ezor wiped the woman’s forehead with paper towels while Zethrid, Lotor translating for her, coached her. Narti and the kid were nowhere to be found. Ezor hoped Narti hadn’t decided to kidnap him.

The true labor pains began, and the lady wailed, a long, drawn-out moan. Her water had broken and everyone was supremely uncomfortable. The labor was, Zethrid reported, going to take a while.

They settled into a sort of pattern. Hours went by. Zethrid helped the woman through her contractions as Ezor wiped her forehead and helped her drink. Acxa kept a constant watch on the fire, boiling water, with one eye on the convenience store in case the cashier got any ideas. Lotor kept up a quiet conversation with the woman in Jassolese, probably to distract her. Eventually, Narti and the kid turned up again with some amenities they’d needed – a plastic tub, some painkillers- but ultimately Zethrid ordered them away again so the kid could be out of the way. So, Narti took the little boy –who had warmed up to her considerably- and let him play with Kova on the other side of the convenience store.

The contractions got steadily worse. The woman had somehow wound up holding Lotor’s hand, which the latter looked comically uncomfortable with –especially since she looked like she was about to break it every time a particularly hard contraction overtook her. Still, the mood was grim. It was obvious that Zethrid knew the absolute bare minimum about childbirth, and that there was no hope of a professional coming into the scene. The woman was half-crying the whole time, skin feverish, hair mussed.

She said something to Lotor very insistently, to which he looked rather disturbed, and replied to with hurried, hushed words. She squeezed his hand and repeated what she said, gesturing to the rest of them.

“What’s she saying, Lotor?” Acxa asked from her post by the fire, washing one of the towels Narti had brought.

Lotor winced. “She, ah…she seems to be under the impression she won’t survive the delivery. She says that if she, erm, _passes,_ then she wishes for us to take her son to Olkarion for her, where there are contacts waiting.” He paused, and leaned towards Zethrid a bit urgently. “But she is going to be fine, isn’t she, Zethrid?”

Zethrid didn’t look so sure. Still, as she heard the woman’s words, a cold, stubborn determination settled on her face, the same iron wall of determination Ezor had loved since she’d first met her, the old gladiator fire.

“Lotor, translate,” she said, mouth settling into a grim line. “Look here, lady. I’m no midwife. But if there’s one thing about me, it’s that I don’t half-ass _anything._ You and your baby are gonna survive as long as I’m in charge. Now work with me, woman. Your son needs you.”

Lotor translated. The woman processed what Zethrid had said, before taking a deep breath and scowling in front of her, nodding.

“That’s the spirit,” Zethrid said approvingly. She checked her. “It’s nearly time for you to start pushing. Let’s get this done.” She looked up to her comrades. “Now, listen up. We’re all horrible people. We all know that. But if we’re going to do one thing, _one damn thing,_ right, in our whole lives, it’s got to be this.  So we’re gonna deliver this dumb baby and we’re gonna do it right, and-” she paused, the tiniest bit self-conscious. “Whatever. That’s all I want to say.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Lotor said.

A while later, the real delivery began. Acxa positioned herself next to Zethrid, who began a steady stream of encouragement.

“That’s it, girl! You can do it! Fight! Get that little parasite out of your uterus!”

“That is _extremely_ inappropriate, Zethrid-”

“Oh, shove it, Lotor-”

Ezor did her best to keep the woman cool and comfortable. There was no light but that of the fire, for the sun had set a while ago. She messaged Narti to keep the kid away.

 _Here goes,_ Ezor said, biting her lip.

Anything could go wrong. Anything. The woman’s sobs echoed into the empty desert night. She was crushing Lotor’s hand.

“I can see its head!” Zethrid declared. “Come on, come on, just a bit more, you can do it-”

Acxa, upon seeing the baby’s head, promptly fainted. Ezor took her a bit to the side, biting back hysterical laughter. They were doing this. The baby was being born!

The woman screamed. Ezor heard a _crack_ sound and then Lotor’s face went very pale; his hand was being crushed by the woman as the baby emerged. Zethrid reached in- Acxa came to- Ezor inhaled- the woman shrieked- Lotor sputtered in an incomprehensible mixture Jassolese and Lower Galran-

A baby’s cry joined its mother’s, wailing out into the desert night. Zethrid laughed a bit maniacally. The woman’s cries died down, and she panted, still perfectly alive.

“It’s a girl!” Zethrid announced with triumph. “A _healthy_ girl!”

Ezor whooped. The woman laughed a bit faintly. Lotor mournfully cradled his swollen hand, smiling gingerly as he translated for the woman. Acxa whistled gleefully.

Acxa and Zethrid washed the baby and wrapped her up in a towel, finally handing her to the mother, who had been cleaned up and made more comfortable by Ezor and Lotor. Watching the woman cradle the baby, Ezor felt a kind of melancholy fondness, a wistful want, a reminder of the kind of family people like her weren’t supposed to have. The four of them watched as the woman examined her daughter with loving eyes, trailing a shaking finger down her face.

“Maybe we should give her some privacy,” Lotor suggested, a bit awkwardly. After all, the four of them felt like intruders, four soldiers of a destructive, unholy empire impeding on a wholesome family scene not intended for their eyes. As they made to move a bit away, the woman stopped them and beckoned them closer, speaking in Jassolese.

“She wants us to witness the naming ceremony,” Lotor said, with a very odd look on his face. “Apparently, it is an important custom in her culture.”

She laid a hand on Lotor’s arm and asked a question. He cast a brief look at Zethrid, before saying one word to her- “Zethrid.”

The woman gently cradled her daughter’s cheek, then said something in a long drag of Jassolese. Lotor looked startled, saying something like he was asking if she was sure. She nodded resolutely. Again, the look on his face was very unreadable as he turned back to Zethrid.

“She wants to name her child after you,” he informed her. “It is a great honor on Ansala, to be a namesake.”

There was a long, long pause. Zethrid was usually rather brash, but now, as they sat there next to the fire in the mild desert night, Zethrid’s eyes looked curiously bright, her voice strangely quiet.

“Uh, sure,” she said, scratching the back of her head clumsily, looking up towards the sky. “Whatever you want, you crazy lady. Shitty name for a kid, anyway.”

That made Ezor and Acxa laugh, and Lotor joined in, chuckling a bit as he translated. Zethrid huffed, crossing her arms.

“I don’t see anything funny about it,” she groused.

“Well, well, well,” Ezor teased. “Our great warrior Zethrid can be worn down after all. You’re just a big softie, aren’t you, Zeth?”

“Oh, shut up,” Zethrid said, annoyed. “I don’t care what she names her brat.” She looked up to see everyone, including the woman, wryly watching her, seeing right through the act. She lost her temper, getting up. “You’re all a bunch of annoying little shits! I’m getting some air!”

A while later, Narti returned with the kid hugging Kova to his chest, looking very pleased. The boy rushed to his mother’s side to see his new sister, quite excited, as Narti cooed in that odd little way her species seemed to do, and, for the first time in her life, got to hold a real baby, as she’d always wanted. For a while they just sat there, five soldiers and a family of refugees, around the fire, sharing food and watching the stars. Ezor could almost forget where she came from, the things she’d done, the place she was going, as she laid out there on the ground, riding on the high of what they’d just accomplished.

An hour or so later, the refugees’ ride came to them, a small, beat-up passenger cruiser that looked like it had been pirated, being flown by what looked like a rebel group. The pilot dismounted from the cockpit and came to help the woman and her luggage into the cruiser. The kid spent a few minutes saying goodbye to Kova and hugging Narti’s legs –if Narti was capable of crying, Ezor was pretty sure she would have- and then came the time for them to say their goodbyes to the mother.

First, she gave them each a turn to hold the baby Zethrid one more time. Ezor got her first.

“Bye-bye, Zethrid,” Ezor said, as sweetly as she could. “Take care of your mom for us.” She passed her on to Acxa.

“Goodbye, little one,” she said, a bit ruefully. “Gave me quite the scare.”

She passed Zethrid on to Narti, who held her for a little bit, cooing unintelligibly, unable to sign because her hands were occupied. Ezor was sure not much was lost in translation, as Narti seemed to lose the ability to form coherent speech around babies. Narti then reluctantly passed the baby on to Lotor, who was trying and failing to look stoically removed.

“Farewell, young Zethrid,” he said magnanimously. “Grow to be fierce and swift.”

“Do you always have to be so extra?” Acxa said, rolling her eyes.

“It was merely a blessing,” Lotor said, affronted, passing Zethrid onto her namesake. “You needn’t ruin it.”

Zethrid looked at the baby for a bit longer than the rest. Again, her eyes held that curious brightness.

“So long, junior,” she finally said. “Gave us a hell of a hard time, but you brought out the good in us useless assholes, huh? That isn’t easy, I’ll give you that.”

She handed Zethrid back to her mother, who then proceeded to surprise them all by kissing them each on the cheek. She and her children climbed aboard the cruiser, and it set off. They watched as it slowly got smaller and smaller, before disappearing into space.

“Ah, the miracle of life,” Lotor said, looking rather pleased. A sniffling sound came from the direction of Zethrid. “Zethrid, are you-”

“One word from you and I’ll kick you in the balls.”

Lotor promptly closed his mouth, then checked his comm-device. “Oh, look, our ride is here. Let’s march.”

As they did walk back to where their ride was waiting, a lot of different sniffly sounds came from a lot of different people, but nobody said anything. They just went on their way.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea for a while, haha. I know it is unbearably cheesy and also slightly ooc, but this is MY crack fic okay???? Anyway, let's just assume they were actually a good team before the events of canon. I really loved their dynamic. I hope you liked this! Please leave comments and kudos!


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